A beautiful diamond out of the rough has their fears for falling back into that dark lost world they emerged from. Butterflies do not return back to their place once cocooned.
Ink from a well is not what determines how much to write, it is how much of an imagination that keeps writing.
As if brought upon the back of the wings of a dove those fruits of ones labour for rewards.
Comfort is seen as soon as to pass through those main gates, still have to journey further before a roof over their head.
They may well appear with an open purse yet their counting finger is for that to be put into their purse than taken out. As others whom consider how it is more than value that can be taken. A heart that keeps giving, but it is how much to receive that counts towards.
In the forest; if folklore are spoken so widely towards others whom take a fascination in. Then why the secrecy to listen in on these tales from a distance. A means to eavesdrop in on those mysterious myths to reveal. Something keen to discover, however for some are a moment to overhear something worth hearing.
In the stones; a path planned ahead can seem as a wind up yet even then need to know how far to make matters last, it's those that leap right in that can feel to cheat their way to where some had struggled towards, love does not allow anything to wind them up or get in their way and genuinely rewarded with that heart.
St. Matthew Ch.16:V.26 " - For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?"
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